The bailiff nodded and moved to a side door, opening it and speaking to someone. A few minutes later Brock emerged, a cocky grin on his face as he walked to the table where his defence lawyer sat.
Rick watched the jury as the young man entered. The glares and condemning looks that were on their faces before slowly melted and were replaced by looks of confusion. Rick sighed and looked towards the judge, noting the same expression. “And, here we go.”
“What do you mean?” The woman asked.
Rick didn’t bother to look at her. “You think he’s guilty of murder?”
“What? Of course not. Look at him. It’s obvious that he’s innocent.”
“But they have him on video.”
“It must have been faked.”
Rick stood.
Brock turned and saw his stepfather. He waved and then winked, the smirk on his face widening.
Rick shook his head and left the courtroom. On his way out of the courthouse, he saw a tv reporter and stopped to mutter, “They are letting Brock Hardin go free.”
The woman frowned. “What? There’s no way.”
He laughed and walked away.
7
A black Suburban SUV pulled close to the sidewalk and stopped. Rick stuck his hands into his pockets and continued walking. He heard the power window descend.
“Rick Hardin?” A man’s voice asked.
“Nope.”
“Sir. We know that you’re Rick Hardin.” The SUV began to roll forward, keeping pace with him.
“Then why ask?”
“The governor is requesting a meeting with you.”
“No thanks.”
“It’s about your son.”
Rick stopped and turned to face the man. “I don’t have a son.”
“You know who we mean.”
Rick glared.
“Please. It’s a matter of national security.”
“That sentence sounds familiar.” He tapped his chin. “Oh, wait. I’ve been saying that since the kid was born.”
The man winced.
“Everyone laughed. Told me I was crazy.”
“Only those who met Brock in person.”
Rick smiled and arched one eyebrow. “Has the governor? Met him in person?”
The man shook his head.
Rick paused for a moment and then sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll meet him.”
The suburban door opened.
***
Two men stood as Rick entered the room. One extended a hand. “Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you for coming.”
“Governor.” The two men shook hands.
“Please. Call me Stan. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?”
“No thanks.”
The governor looked at the man to his right. He nodded and the governor opened the briefcase sitting in front of him, withdrawing a folder. “Lieutenant Colonel, your step son—”
Rick held up his hand. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Call him my step son. He’s nothing to me. Never has been.”
The governor adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry.”
Rick nodded.
“The government has been watching…Brock, since he was born.”
“You mean once they found out that his real father was Hero?” Rick almost spat as he said the word.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Preliminary findings indicated that the boy wasn’t a problem. Every report filed assured readers that the boy had no powers of his own .”
Rick laughed.
Stan grimaced. “We now realize that was a lie and he somehow managed to hide his ability.”
“Like I said earlier. I reported there was a problem.”
The governor nodded. “There is one record of a complaint by you.”
“No one believed it.”
“You were a husband scorned.”
Rick nodded. “I can see how some might think that. Those who knew me shouldn’t have.”
“Those who knew you were already under the boy’s spell.”
Rick felt his face get warm and he frowned. “No. They weren’t.”
“Okay.” Stan held a hand up. “Let’s agree that mistakes were made.”
Rick leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, chin on his chest. “The last time I tried to warn anyone was when he made himself crime boss. Of the country. That was before he took over crime for the rest of the world.”
The Governor cleared his throat and looked at the other man beside him before replying. “Authorities were convinced that was orchestrated by the government.”
Rick shook his head, laughing softly.
“Head of national security and the director of crime affairs both assured the president himself that Brock was working for us.”
“They both met Brock before they made that claim?”
There was a pause. “Yes.”
“Mr. Hardin.” The other man spoke. “My name is Connor Kane. I’m director of a new unit dedicated to maintaining the country’s safety from super-powered threats.”
Rick eyed Connor. “You’re ex-Berserker.”
“That’s right. I entered the unit two years after you retired.”
“A peacetime ‘zerker. My condolences.”
Connor smiled. “We managed to stay busy.”
“I’m about ready to leave. What do you want, boys?”
“Long story short?” Connor spread his hands. “We have finally managed to discover and confirm Brock’s super power.”
“Charisma.”
The governor laughed. “It goes beyond the scope of that word, Rick. We prefer to call it guile.”
“I’m not sure that word covers it either.”
“Whatever word you want to use, it’s a serious problem. Anyone who comes within a thousand feet of him becomes enthralled.”
“That big a radius, huh?”
“At the moment,” Connor nodded. “We think it’s constantly growing.”
The governor opened the file folder and slid it towards Rick. It was a single page. “That’s all we have on him.”
“Pretty flimsy.”
Connor crossed his arms. “It’s enough to scare the hell out of us. Turns out that Brock has spent years building an empire of both financial and personal support. He is the richest man in the world and has managed to personally meet with nearly every global leader. All that matter, at least.”
Rick shook his head. “Damn.”
“We figure he’s going to announce his candidacy for president next week. He will win. After he does that, it won’t take long for the rest of the world to give control of their own countries to him. He is about to create a One World Order, with himself as uncontested supreme ruler.”
Rick scanned the page before meeting the Governor’s stare. “Have his daddy take care of the problem.”
Connor frowned, pulled out his cell phone, and extended it towards Rick.
There was a photo of Brock standing in front of a band of microphones, Hero smiling as he stood at his right side.
Rick whistled. “I always wondered if the old man would be immune to the kid’s power. Thought for sure that he would be.”
“Nope. He’s enthralled, and Brock keeps him by his side at all times.”
“Well.” Rick stood. “Seems like you have some fun times ahead of you. Good luck, boys.”
“There is only one person that can stop him. Only one immune to his power.”
Rick raised one eyebrow and stared at the governor. “Me.”
“That’s right.”
Rick thought about it for a few heartbeats. “What’s your plan?”
Connor produced a small glass vial and held it up.
“Is that Hero’s blood?” Rick asked.
“Yes.”
“Interesting. You want me to take it, then get close enough to Hero and the kid to kill them?”
“Something like that.”
“I can’t beat Hero
. Even with his blood.”
“We know.”
Rick frowned. Then his eyes widened and he smiled. “You want me to keep him busy.”
Connor nodded. “All we need is a second to put a bullet in Brock’s head. If Hero is busy with you, he won’t be able to focus on his son.”
“He might.”
Connor said nothing.
Rick laughed. Visions of a bomb, the spray of bullets, and a dozen other scenarios filled his head. “You’re asking me to go on a suicide mission.”
“We don’t want you to die.”
Rick laughed and held out his hand. “Let me see that.”
Connor placed the vial in his palm. Rick raised it to his eyes, watching the light play on the blood. Then, he set it on the table and considered it. “When I found out that the boy wasn’t mine, that my wife and best friend—my brother in all ways but blood—had betrayed me, I wanted to be away from them. I asked, no, I begged to be moved from the home, to be transferred out of the unit.” He looked at the Governor, a feeling of calmness filling him. “Do you know what I was told?”
The governor shook his head.
Rick sighed. “Same thing I’m gonna tell you.” He turned and opened the door. “You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
A Word from Terry Schott
I get asked to contribute to anthologies quite often. My standard reply is to give thanks for the invitation and then politely pass.
But super villains…yeah, I wanted to give that a go.
I’ve always been a fan of clever stories. Stories that make you think a bit. I’m not talking descriptive prose where you read three pages describing how dew drips off of a leaf. I like fast paced writing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be clever.
Was my story clever?
I tried.
Story ideas come to me in flashes. Sometimes I see the story, other times I see what happens before the story. There is a third flash that comes to me, but rarely. The rare flash I get is from a future… I see a vision of what happens after the story I am about to write has occurred. A flash from the story’s future.
That’s what happened with “Charisma.”
Here’s what I saw;
In the recent past, there was a tyrant. A despicable, evil ruler who somehow conquered the entire world and controlled everything and everyone.
Life was miserable. People were sad, poor, and oppressed. Millions died for no reason except to suffer in order to entertain the Tyrant. He was pure evil and for thirty-nine years the Tyrant reigned absolutely. No one could stop him. Those few who tried suffered more than the rest.
Then he died without anyone to take over.
Slowly things are returning to normal, at least what people remember as normal. Countries have begun to declare their independence and reclaim their sovereignty. Citizens are stepping forward to help form new governments and run for election. It’s awkward cause the lawyers who ran for office and screwed it all up before the tyrant came along are all dead and gone.
Still, evil is no longer in charge and people are hopeful, optimistic, and happy to be alive.
No one forgets the Tyrant. His rule was so long that it will be years before it becomes less painful. New schools continue to teach about the Tyrant, afraid that if we forget what happened, it might occur again.
And we don’t just remember the Tyrant. We also keep the names of his conspirators fresh in our minds. We might even hate them more.
If it hadn’t been for them, the Tyrant could have been stopped. They are also the villains in this history.
There was the Tyrant’s mother, and his father, but worst of all was a man named Rick Hardin. He was the only man in the world who had the ability to stand up to the Tyrant. He had powers of his own. One of the few on the planet who did. Rick Hardin could have prevented all of this, but chose not to.
Intent on their hatred for the man, no one ever bothers to wonder why he chose not to kill the Tyrant. No one knows how truly it all went down.
How it really happened.
But now you do.
Terry Schott
www.terryschott.com
DREAMER
BY HANK GARNER
DREAMER
BY HANK GARNER
JANUARY 12
Yesterday was a pretty good day. After you turn eighteen, birthdays become less important, but they really made me feel special with the surprise party. Mom said she put a lot of thought into what to give me, and she settled on this journal.
“You should record your thoughts,” she said. “One day when you’re older, you might be surprised to look back on what was going on with you. Sometimes it helps to solve problems. Kind of like talking things out, but just to yourself. Anyway, I hope you’ll use it.”
So I guess I’ll give it a shot.
Dear diary. Good lord that sounds dumb. How about we dispense with the formalities and I’ll just write? Consider us introduced.
I woke up this morning from the strangest dream again. I guess it’s been three nights now. Same thing.
Last night I drifted off, not thinking about anything in particular. I began dreaming about weird things like you do when you first go to sleep. You know, the usual crazy stuff. Probably pizza talking. But then the dream became realistic. Almost hyper-realistic. I dreamed that I was following a guy and watching him. Kind of like a reality TV show. I felt like I was the camera man and was documenting his day. I couldn’t make out his face, though. And even though the person had the build of a man, I was assuming.
It was pretty mundane to begin with. Just going through the motions of a boring life, but he left his house and walked downtown and that’s when it got weird.
In my dream, he walked around the back of a jewelry store. He paced outside the door, wringing his hands, I guess working up his nerve. Then he stood still and breathed deeply. His hands started glowing and he reached for the door, but before he could actually touch it, the door ripped off the hinges.
He ran inside the store and pulled rings, bracelets, and necklaces out of the display cases and crammed them into his hoodie. With my cameraman’s view, I zoomed in and watched as he grabbed as much as he could before the windows of the shop were bathed in the red and blue lights of approaching police cruisers. He laughed and strolled to the gaping rear door. He walked out and casually made his way up the alley. A cruiser slid to a stop and the guy just walked right past them. It was like they didn’t even see him.
I woke up right after that.
Weird, huh?
TRIBUNE: JANUARY 13
GOODMAN’S JEWELRY ROBBED, NO SUSPECT NAMED
Last night at 10:05 p.m., Goodman’s Jewelry Store at 533 East Avenue was robbed in what police are calling a baffling incident.
Officers arrived just after ten o’clock to find the rear door of the store ripped completely off its hinges. Police found the door laying approximately fifteen feet down the alley. No other signs of forced entry were detected.
Detective Dwayne Chaney said that a full investigation is underway, and rest assured the culprit would be apprehended. He warned other business owners to take extra precautions in securing their businesses.
No suspect has been named yet. Cameras in the place of business failed just before the robbery, so no description of the perpetrator is available yet.
If you have any information, please contact Detective Chaney at 555-1967.
JANUARY 13
You won’t believe this. I stopped at the coffee shop this morning for my usual coffee and donut and picked up a paper. I don’t normally read the paper, but there was a picture of the jewelry store on the front page! Then I read the story and it’s the same thing from my dream! What the heck?
There’s a detective that’s looking into it, and I feel like I should say something, but what would I say?
“Hey officer, I watched that robbery happen.”
“Good, an eye witness. Tell us about it.”
“Ummmm, I can’t.”
“
Why not?”
“Because I was dreaming and I couldn’t even see the guy’s face.”
“Dreaming, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Kid, you ever been in the nut house?”
Yeah, that’s exactly how it would play out. But seriously, I think I should do something. I need to remember more about the dream. And why am I dreaming about stuff and then reading about it in the paper? Am I seeing the future? If so, I don’t like it. No, it’s just a coincidence. I still don’t like it.
Signing off.
JANUARY 15
I had supper with Mom and Dad last night. They kept asking me what was wrong and I just shook my head. I mean honestly nothing was wrong, except for that crazy feeling that I knew something that I shouldn’t know. Anyway, I tried to push it out of my mind and that waitress at the I.H.O.P. was flirting like she always does. I should ask her out. Remind me to do that next week, OK?
So…
It happened again last night. I woke up this morning soaked in sweat. It took me a little while to realize what happened. I was convinced that I was in a dark alley somewhere, but as I finally woke up and pushed the memories of the dream to the side and allowed reality to come into focus, my bedroom became real again. And here I sit trying to make sense of it all. I will try to recount the dream while it’s fresh.
I remember lying in bed reading a book. My eyes got heavy and I drifted off to sleep. It felt like I was falling down a hole, hitting weird scenes along the way. Kind of like Alice in Wonderland, but passing screens playing different scenes that I stopped and participated in for a moment that seemed like an eternity, but truthfully only lasted a second or two. Bizarre, right?
Anyway, when I finally hit the bottom of the tunnel, I found myself downtown again. I walked down the street, just checking out the scenery. I saw a couple coming out of the movie theater. They were holding hands. I could tell that they were in love, probably at the beginning of their relationship. They still had goofy looks on their faces like they had not yet realized the other’s faults. That is a good place to be.
World Domination Page 7
